


Still Life

by Dragestil



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M, Short & Sweet, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/pseuds/Dragestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not hard to see traces of Ross' past when he stands so still. Trott's past though? Well he'd prefer everyone forget that even happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Life

**Author's Note:**

> The people asked for Tross. Who am I to let them down? I also saw a thing on Tumblr that was all "But what if long-hair selkie Trott cut it when he left as cutting of ties but eventually with the Garbage Court starts growing it back because comfortable and home again?" and I was all "Sign me right up." This has little to no plot and probably little to no coherence. It is 2.30 and I just finished watching a 6 or 7 hour livestream. I just wanted to write a thing. Forgive me.

In the dark pre-dawn, beneath heavy rain clouds, on a poorly lit street, it was easy to forget that the man leaned up against a brick wall could even move. He was so perfectly immobile, so precisely positioned with painfully beautiful angles and curves that would make any sculptor weep. He did not blink when rain rolled from his expressionless brow into blue, crystal eyes. He did not wipe away the drip-dropping water that pooled for moments at a time along the lines of his jaw before tumbling toward the pavement. In fact, he did not even seem aware of anything at all that happened around him. His gaze was seemingly endless and unseeing. It made knots in Trott's stomach for reasons he couldn't - or maybe wouldn't - place. He cleared his throat.

"Ross?"

The gargoyle cocked a brow, eyes at last moving to catch the other male's gaze. He had forgotten that he had company. It was easy on days like this to lose himself to the familiarity of overcast skies and cold rain. He shook water from his dark hair and pushed away from the wall. If he cared about the way his clothing, now soaked through, clung to his frame, he didn't show it. Trott briefly wondered if they would even be able to get him out of those jeans in this state. He smiled distantly.

"Are you ready to go?"

"You were waiting for me?"

"Smith said I should pick you up here, that you needed a ride."

Ross' expression offered no hints as to his opinion on the thought. He had been brought back into the world of the animate, but he seemed still lost in his own head. Trott supposed it was only natural. Habits could be hard to break, especially when they had been ingrained since birth - or creation. There were plenty of his own lingering from days he'd rather not remember. He slipped into his own thoughts, and missed the gargoyle's approach until a smooth and unnaturally cool thumb was running along his cheek. He inhaled, feeling the breath get stuck somewhere between his throat and lungs but not wanting to release it. The finger retreated to allow a full hand to pass through his hair.

"You haven't cut it recently," Ross mused as he gently twined wet strands between his fingers.

"No. Guess I haven't," Trott said, more hastily and clipped than he meant. He added quickly, quietly, "sorry."

"You don't want to talk about it."

"I-" he trailed off nearly as soon as he began. He what? He didn't know. It felt cheap to say that it was complicated, but a lie to say otherwise. And actually telling the full truth? The knots in his stomach returned.

"That's alright," the gargoyle answered, easily sliding his free hand into one of Trott's and letting the other slide back down to cup a damp cheek. "You don't have to tell me."

It was hard to look up into those bright and cold eyes. He didn't notice the way his grip on Ross' hand tightened or the way his other hand found its way to the familiar handle of his dagger. Above the pattering of light rain on the ground and his own beating heart, he heard the gulls wheeling through grey skies and the surf crashing on rocks. It didn't matter that they were far, far from the sea. Despite all his running, it always found its way back to him. He pressed his face more firmly into the gargoyle's palm.

"In my tribe, we kept long hair - well, sort of. Parts of it were - never mind," Trott sighed. "You don't want to hear about that shit."

"I do."

"What?"

Ross settled his chin on the top of the selkie's head as he pulled the man into his chest. It seemed the right thing to do when he couldn't find the words that would make things alright. He had never been the best at conversations - leave those to Smith and his happy chattering about nothing. But he hoped the physicality would be enough, that being a solid presence in the moment would show his concern. 

"You really do?"

"If you want to, yeah, I'd like it."

"Can we go somewhere dry first?"

"I thought selkies liked being wet..."

"And I thought gargoyles didn't talk back."

They shared a smile in the pale light of a rainy morning. Perhaps they didn't need to erase their pasts to move forward. Perhaps sometimes they only needed someone to share in the remembrance, and to laugh with them at the ghosts and demons.


End file.
